Birds stories

What could be more delightful than a herd of cowbirds, a flotilla of frigatebirds or a pandemonium of parrots?

A bowl of spoonbills, perhaps.

A Spoonbill about to join a bowl

One of my favorite of Anders’ photos is of a gangly Roseate Spoonbill coming in for a landing to join six others. So when I came across the fact that a group of spoonbills is called a bowl, the image was just so striking it made me laugh.

And of course it made me curious.

Turns out that our medieval ancestors dreamed up tons of terms for flocks of specific birds. There’s a “wisdom” of owls, a “mewing” of catbirds and a “slurp” of sapsuckers.

Is it a 1) squabble, 2) wedge or 3) a scoop of Skimmers? See the list below.

The lucky ducks get several monikers: a “safe,” a “raft” or a “paddling” while on land — or a “team” in flight.

Hummingbirds can be collectively called a charm, a glittering, a shimmer, a tune, a bouquet or a hover.

In 1486 Dame Juliana Barnes of England listed these “proper terms” in “TheBook of St Alban.” They were included in handbooks to educate the English nobility — a way to distinguish the aristocracy from the less well bred.

Is it a 1) pod, 2) a party, or a 3) posse of Pelicans. Keep reading for answers.

Fast forward to 2001 and “An Unkindness of Ravens: A Book of Collective Nouns” by Chloe Rhodes. She says flocks tended to be named for peculiar habits, physical characteristics or a personality trait that people believed the birds to possess: A flamboyance of flamingos, a coronation of kingbirds, a constellation of starlings, a murder of crows.

When the Year of the Bird campaign on behalf of endangered species kicked off one year ago, National Geographic magazine turned to a unique voice for its cover story. One of the country’s leading novelists, Jonathan Franzen, took up the question of “Why Birds Matter.’’

The National Book Award winner’s article blended his fascination for birds with his literary firepower. Drawing from his decades of birding all over the world, Franzen walked through the attributes of 49 different species on the way to an appeal for us to change our careless ways.

“Now humans are changing the planet – its surface, its climate, its oceans – too quickly for birds to adapt by evolving,’’ he wrote. “Crows and gulls may thrive at our garbage dumps, blackbirds and cowbirds at our feedlots, robins and bulbuls in our city parks.

“But the future of most bird species depends on our commitment to preserving them. Are they valuable enough for us to make the effort?”

The Year of the Bird project, led by the Audubon Society, the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, National Geographic and Birdlife International, comes to a close on Monday with a long list of accomplishments to its credit.

One of the most notable was the story-telling that came with the campaign. Over the course of the year, essays, journalism, photography and videos drew an enormous audience reaching tens of millions of people to the question of whether and how to preserve the world’s endangered species. Last week, Flying Lessons explored the impacts of this sprawling project. Today’s post looks at the way the coalition told its story.

National Geographic’s coverage included magazine stories on exotic and threatened species, its unrivaled nature photography, books and videos that put you, for instance, alongside wet-suited photographers bobbing in the frigid ocean to get a close-up bird shot.

The Cornell Lab of Ornithology used advances in social media and apps to collect huge amounts of data from birdwatchers. The data fuels both scientific studies and storytelling with graphics and animation. The most impressive element is a new animation technique that lets you watch how migrations unfold over the seasons across the hemisphere.

The Audubon Society and BirdLife International used their increasingly sophisticated websites to share birding news, post photographs and make the arguments central to the Year of the Bird project. Audubon’s president, David Yarnold, is a former newspaper editor who writes regular advocacy pieces that draw on his journalism background.

For days, we couldn’t figure out what the small, yellow bird was that stared out from a series of photos taken in the southern Nova Scotia. Beverly looked through every one of her many birding books without finding a match. I went back and looked at looked at all the photos for clues.

Finally, Beverly emailed the photo to a birding expert and friend in Maryland to ask for his help. He said it was a tricky one because the bird was almost certainly a juvenile who’d yet to come into its full colors. They eventually decided it had to be a first-year Mourning Warbler, an uncommon species that just happened to look a lot like other Warblers.

Anders and Beverly, in the mountains in western North Carolina.

Beverly and I take very different approaches to birding. She is exacting and studious. She can spend an hour moving slowly through the woods or fields to suss out shy birds, and then devote another hour hardly moving as she watches them at work and play. She has gradually taught herself to spot species even from afar, to learn their complex calls and to coax them out of their hiding places. Like with the Mourning Warbler, she won’t give up until she’s figured out what she’s seen.

On the other hand, I like to charge ahead to see what’s around the next corner. As the photographer, I try to keep moving and hope to come upon birds by surprise. I’m happiest when I can catch a bird in flight, taking off or landing to show the magnificent science of flying. I’m comfortable with guesses as to what we’re seeing — and like to move to the next question.

Both of us were journalists for many years. Beverly was a reporter, an editor and then the food editor at The Miami Herald, before she launched syndicated columns on first parenting, and then cooking family meals, which turned into the Desperation Dinners franchise that included weekly columns, then a series of books and finally a national website.

Anders, on the beach in Georgia.

I began as a reporter and photographer at newspapers in Pennsylvania, Virginia and New Jersey, before switching to editing and eventually running newsrooms in Raleigh, Minneapolis and Miami. My last assignment was the top editorial position for McClatchy, a network of newspapers from California to the Carolinas. All of this led to a love of writing, reporting and photography that helped to lead us to this website.

Beverly, at one of our camping sites in Ocracoke, North Carolina.

When we retired, we got the chance to combine our love of the outdoors, camping and hiking with our fascination for birding. We started traveling, first in a small Casita trailer, and then in the Airstream you see behind Beverly, which lets us stay out for long stretches when the birding is good.

It might be our years in journalism that push us to look for the broader story. That got us thinking about the layers of lessons we’ve encountered over the past several years that go far beyond simply identifying the birds we see. We still consider ourselves to be in the learning stage as birders. But we hope if may have stories, questions, discoveries to share as our experiences.

We’d love to hear from you about your thoughts and observations about learning from the birds. Here’s an email to use — or please leave comments on any of the posts and pages. And once more, thank you for spending time on Flying Lessons.

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Washington Post story on eBird

IN-DEPTH STORY ON BIRDING

Here’s a package that ran in the Washington Post on how Cornell’s eBird project grew into the world’s most ambitious citizen science project. It’s an example of the in-depth coverage we do from time to time as part of our reporting on avian topics and trends.

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About us

We’re two journalists who’ve traded in our work in publishing and syndicated writing for following and photographing the birds. We live in Washington, DC, but are traveling the country every chance we get -- and are sharing the lessons birds are teaching us and the photos we take along the way.

Why Flying Lessons

This website is about what we can learn from the birds around us. Some of the lessons are obvious, such as the way birds can be a barometer of environmental changes. Others are subtle, like the way you, as an observer, have to adapt to navigate the world in which birds operate. We ourselves still have much to learn about birding, a late-in-life pursuit that has captivated us in retirement. But we decided to start writing about the lessons and teachings as we’re finding our way, in hopes that our storytelling and photography will help to celebrate a captivating element of nature.